Lesson One
by simonsaysfunction
Summary: A merchant's (un)fortunate run in with Merrill and Hawke.


To say that this was a good day for the merchant who had just recently set up shop in Lowtown would be an understatement. He had already managed to sell off several items of dubious quality and now he was going to sucker a knife-ear, one of them from out in the wilderness even though she was a bit overdressed for one of them, into an even more worthless item. The move to Kirkwall, despite this ridiculous claptrap about mages and templars, was proving to be an extremely lucrative decision.

That was, of course, until he saw the figure approaching from over the elf's shoulder. He didn't recognize her at first, but as she drew closer, he saw the ice blue eyes and distinctive armour of the Champion of Kirkwall herself. He tried to rush through the clincher on this incredibly easy sale to properly greet her, only to realize with sinking clarity that the elf and the Champion knew each other.

As Hawke drew closer to the merchant's stall, she had never seen him before but her time with Athenril had helped her pick out the shadiest of the shady so she knew he wouldn't last long swindling in this part of Kirkwall, an eyebrow rose high on her forehead. The merchant had grown a bit pale, especially as her hand rested on the small of Merrill's back and she peered over a slender shoulder.

"What do we have here? A jewel that even the drunkest Antivan wouldn't pass up?" The ever present teasing lilt was there, one that caused everyone to underestimate her entirely, but the undercut of suspicion and reproach was laced through tightly and directed towards the merchant who seemed to pale even further.

"Oh, Hawke! I was thinking about buying Isabela a present. She helped me back to your home after what she called 'girls night' at the Hanged Man!" Hawke could only internally grimace and wonder at what exactly had gone on there. Nothing innocent or pure, to be certain, though thankfully most of it would have sailed straight over the mage's head.

"Well, Maker knows Isabela needs more baubles." Turning a critical eye towards the 'gem', she quickly surmised it was merely a highly polished bit of glass and sighed, plucking it out of her partner's hand. "Lesson one in dealing with merchants."

At this, Merrill tilted her head back on Hawke's shoulder, careful of the pauldrons, and looked at her with her wide, even innocent expression. "Lessons? Varric's never mentioned lessons about merchants and you would think he would seeing as his family is in that caste."

The adoring smile on the Champion's face was entirely unintended, but there it was, and the merchant attempted to capitalize on this moment of Hawke's apparent weakness. He launched into a spiel about this special gem he had brought especially from Tevinter that was all the rage for this or that. She merely rolled her eyes and set the bit of glass back down on the stall.

"Lesson one; never believe a word that they tell you. Merchants are worse about lying than my uncle Gamlen. At least he's honest about being dishonest." With a wink, she released Merrill to step up to the man, entering his space to the point where he was barely breathing, like a cornered rat.

"This next lesson is for you, _serah_." The formality was dripping with a special sort of malice, a tone Hawke reserved for when she spoke of the man who had murdered her mother and people who tried to do the same to her sister. "The next time you want to set up shop so close to the Alienage, try not to call them knife-ears, or I will take a knife to your ears. Are we understood?" At the threat, her gauntleted fingers had twisted in the front of his tunic, bringing his face so close to hers that she could smell the rank ale on his panted breath.

"I-I never…" His face told her all she need to know. How had she figured it out? It was rather simple when one had ears in low places, specifically when she was known to sympathise acutely with the plight of city elves. Dropping him back to his feet, she looped an arm through Merrill's who was equal parts proud and ashamed of what had transpired, though she leaned up to kiss Hawke's cheek, just near the bridge of her nose.

"You really are crazy, ma vhenan. Can we go listen to Varric tell stories about you?" And in an instant, the mage was back to her excitable, bubbly self as Hawke dutifully began to lead her towards the Hanged Man.

"I will only accept it because I love whiskey flavoured with rat droppings."

Merrill's giggles lasted well past the point that they entered the tavern.


End file.
